


give my regards to romance

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6576538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A head is resting against his collarbone. All he can see is brown hair but he doesn’t need to see even that to know who it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	give my regards to romance

**Author's Note:**

> SafelyCapricious prompted "a supernatural kiss" and I tried my best. 
> 
> Title comes from The Killers' "Human."

The faint smell of disinfectant and the steady beeping of a heart monitor pretty obviously point to Brock waking up, not for the first time in his life, in the ICU. The weight on his chest, however, is more something that’d happen if he was waking up in the middle of a fight.

He blinks awake slowly, giving his eyes time to adjust to the bright hospital (yep, definitely one of those) lights before looking down. A head is resting against his collarbone. All he can see is brown hair but he doesn’t need to see even that to know who it is.

“What’re you doin’ here, kid?” he slurs, pinching at her arm.

She twists, fighting between sleep and wakefulness - which is just so not fair, does she realize she’s on top of him? Her head tips back and her eyes are still cloudy when she says, “Saving your life.” She drops her head back down where it was and, just when he thinks that’s all he’s getting, pinches his arm above the IV. “And don’t call me ‘kid.’ I’m your soul mate not a bloody child.”

She must be really ticked if she’s cursing; the only other time he’s heard her do it was the last time he saw her and that involved yelling and slamming doors. He drops his head back to the pillows.

“How long have I been out?” It must’ve been a while. Last thing he remembers he was in the Australian outback and he’d have heard if she’d been transferred from the Hub.

The hand she used to pinch him grips his ribs tightly. “Four days,” she says and the weight of those two little words drags his eyes shut. If it’d been her lying in a hospital bed for the better part of a week, unresponsive, he’d have torn down governments.

“And how long have you-?”

“Three and a half.”

His chest feels wet and yeah, he’s an ass. Even more of one because of what he says next. “They shouldn’t’ve called you in.”

She stiffens and slowly - God, so slowly - lifts herself up so she’s curled next to him and can look him in the eye. He feels flimsy without her on top of him, like he’s got no weight of his own, and something in the vicinity of his lungs urges him to grab her back again.

He fists his hands in the blankets.

“You had a collapsed lung,” she says evenly, “ _eighteen_ broken bones, your skull was fractured, the surgeon who operated on you characterized your internal damage as _severe_ and said he didn’t expect you to survive the day without a supplement to your energy stores. You were _dying_. Of _course_ they should have called me.”

He looks away and he knows she thinks he’s dismissing her but the truth of it is she wears her heart on her damn sleeve and he can’t stand to see it break all over her face. “You’d be better off if I had,” he says.

She slaps him.

Right across the face. In the middle of his hospital room. After he nearly _died_. He wants to laugh. Where was that when he was dying? When it would’ve been the smartest thing in the world for her to just let it happen?

She sighs and hangs her head. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long few days and I’m tired and- it’s no excuse.”

She’s tired because she’s been using their damn soul bond to pass some of her life to him. Doesn’t matter that he goes out of his way to be an ass around her or that they haven’t seen each other in nearly a year, she’s not about to let _anyone_ die where she can help it, not even her fuck up of a soul mate.

“I know you don’t want me,” she says, sounding exhausted, “but can you just put up with me for a few more hours, until your doctors clear you?”

He stares - too long because it pulls her attention back to him - and finds his hand lifting towards her hair without his permission. She looks utterly kissable, all sleep rumpled like this, and there’s part of him - that same stupid part that wants to hold her and never let go - that wants to kiss away her bad mood.

He swears it’s that same part that gets out a “You think-” before he can stop it because the rest of him isn’t that damned idiotic.

“Think what?” she echoes.

“Nothin’.” He looks away.

“No, you were going to say something. Brock-” Now she reaches for him. Her hand fists in midair and she cringes back. “I’m sorry. Never mind.”

_Goddammit._

She just looks so _sad_ and maybe it’s nearly dying or the bond being in full effect or just seeing her again after so long - or maybe he really is that dumb - because he grabs her and pulls her to him for a kiss. She makes this shocked little sound at first but it only takes a second for her to melt into him. He feels solid again with her in his arms, and more than that he can feel a buzz from his mouth down to his groin. It’s probably just the bond healing him up, but it feels damn good - better, even, when she rocks against him.

She rests her forehead against his and breaks the kiss, panting. “What?”

He tangles his fingers in her hair. “I’ve always wanted you,” he confesses sadly, “but you shouldn’t want me.”

Something suspiciously like a whine catches in his throat when she sits back.

“You’re my _soul mate_ ,” she says like that should explain everything.

“I’m twice your age.”

She scoffs, and he presses on.

“I’ve got a job that lands me in the ER at least once a month. Half my graduating class from the Academy is dead already. You don’t want me, Jemma, you’re just looking for the fairy tale and I ain’t it.”

He’s never seen the expression she’s wearing now. If he had to name it, he’d go with cold fury, as it sends a shiver up his spine and freezes his gut.

She climbs off him and to the floor, leaving him feeling paper-thin again, and marches to the visitor chair placed against the wall. An overnight bag’s on it and, from the side pocket, she pulls her cell phone. She unlocks it on her way back to him and tosses it onto his chest ahead of her. He’s got only a second to grab it before she’s curling up on top of him again.

“I want _you_ , you idiot,” she mutters and settles down firmly, putting him in mind of a cat who’s chosen its spot and will not be moved.

He stares between her and the phone, uncertain what he’s meant to see - until he sees it. There’s an app right at the top with his name on it and, when he opens it, it’s all about him. It’s every report, every mission briefing, everything he’s been involved in since the day they met that she can get her hands on with her level three clearance.

“Oh, kid,” he sighs and knows she’s asleep when no reply comes. He lets himself indulge a little and brush his hand over her hair, even drops a brief kiss to the crown of her head. It was bad enough when it was just him hopelessly in love with her - that he could at least pretend to fix with distance and especially brutal missions - but now that he knows the feeling’s mutual? He can’t even begin to figure how to clean up this mess. 

 


End file.
